


The Boy Who Cried Alpha

by awabubbles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha John Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal, Consensual Underage Sex, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Omega Dean Winchester, Parent/Child Incest, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28632831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awabubbles/pseuds/awabubbles
Summary: Every male in the Winchester line has been an alpha. John, his father before him, and his father before him: on and on it goes. It's in his bloodline. A destiny Dean is next in line to receive. Until, of course, he doesn't.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/John Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 135





	The Boy Who Cried Alpha

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a universe where alphas/betas/omegas are kind of "neutral" until they hit puberty-ish age and then they finally present with the appropriate hormones/scents/heats. My first a/b/o so I'm kinda making it up as I go along. Unbeta'd. Enjoy ❤️

  
  


Dean stands tall—back straight, head held high—pretending he belongs among the pack of hunters gathered around his father. Everyone here is handpicked by John, a veteran of countless monster hunts and sporting the scars to prove it. In comparison, Dean feels like a child. At fifteen years old, technically, he is. But that doesn’t stop him from polishing the pearl hilt of his favorite gun (a gift, from John, his thirteenth birthday) and inviting himself to the hunt. He’s John Winchester’s son, after all. If anyone is going to help track down a Wendigo in the pine-bristled woods of Wisconsin, it should be him. 

So what if he isn’t an alpha yet?

Kirk, the oldest of the group, sniffs in Dean’s general direction. It’s a challenge, asking: where’s your scent? This late into his teens Dean is humiliated by the answer. He smells like nothing. It’s a mark of prepubescence and it’s embarrassing at his age, raises dark and dirty doubts about who he is and what he’ll be. Presenting late is an omega trait, after all. But Dean steels himself against those doubts. Every male in the Winchester line has been an alpha: John, his father before him, and his father before him. On and on it goes. It's in his bloodline. A destiny Dean is next in line to receive. Of course some familial traits skip a sibling, but not him! Dean is an aggressive hunter, loves the feel of blood on his hands, and doesn't take shit from anyone. If the alpha gene is going to skip somebody, it'd be Dean's little brother. Sam is always whining about the hunt, always pissy, getting on everybody's nerves: a typical omega. No, Dean thinks, he’s definitely alpha. He just has to be patient, and wait.

When John is finally ready to address them, he clears his throat and their group falls silent. Commanding attention from atop a massive rock that juts out of the forest floor, John is the obvious leader of their pack. Dean looks up at him, eyes wet with admiration. He wants to be just like his father one day.

“We’ll split up into groups of two,” his father declares. “That way we cover more ground. Bill and Ed, you head west. Axel and Ace you go east.”

Dean squares his shoulders and waits to be paired with John. He’s been shooting targets in the backyard of their rented home all week in preparation for this hunt. He’s eager to show off, eager for John to acknowledge him, to point at Dean with pride and say _that’s my son_.

John is a stoic man. He doesn’t show much emotion; a necessary trait for a hunter who's always at risk. With his sons that’s especially true. Dean knows when he’s done something wrong but if he gets it right, Dean's lucky to be reward with so much as a nod. He excuses it, though. As a hunter in training, John has to be hardest on Dean. There’s no room for mistakes because mistakes mean you’re dead. So Dean doesn’t complain about his father’s distance but still finds himself desperate to close the gap. He dresses up in father’s old leather jacket, listens to the same music, steals sips of the same beer, and jerks off to the same Hustler magazines: all in an attempt to be close to the man.

Finally John points at him. Dean’s heart swells but instantly deflates when John points to Kirk, instead of himself, pairing the two of them up.

Rejection, plain and simple. It leaves Dean feeling withered and cold. When the hunters are finished being paired—John, with an old drinking buddy of his from Denver—they scatter into the woods to find their monster, leaving Dean and Kirk alone in the clearing.

“I can’t believe I got assigned babysitting duty,” Kirk growls, indignant.

Throwing his rifle over his shoulder, the hunter begins heading north as John directed. Dean touches the revolver tucked into the back of his pants before reluctantly following. They travel in silence for a long while, each focused on tracking the Wendigo, each focused on pretending the other doesn’t exist until Kirk suddenly stops dead in his tracks.

Dean nearly runs into him. “What the hell?” he huffs.

Dean smooths out his father’s beaten leather jacket and glares at Kirk who’s sniffing the air again. Great. Was this another one of his shitty alpha challenges? Dean rolls his eyes. “We don’t have time for this.”

“It’s you." Out of nowhere Kirk points an accusatory finger at Dean. “Faint, at first. But now it’s unmistakable. That scent. It’s _you_!”

Something flips in Kirk, like a switch. With a feral growl he throws himself at the younger hunter, shoulders hulking, pupils blown wide. Dean stumbles backwards, pulling out his gun and pointing at Kirk with sweating palms.

“Don’t fucking move!” he warns.

Kirk freezes, red-faced and breathing hard. Dean’s only seen an alpha act like this during a rut, or fighting over a mate. It doesn’t make sense. Why is he attacking Dean?

“You don’t get it yet, do you?” Kirk laughs. Tilting his head, he eyes Dean hungrily. “Don’t worry, the hormones’ll be kicking in any second now. I can’t wait to see your face when John Winchester’s oldest son finds out he’s not an alpha after all.”

“What?”

Dean’s trigger finger twitches. Kirk’s obviously been poisoned by something, or maybe hexed. It’s the perfect excuse to shoot the fuck right in the face when a sharp, stabbing pain straight in his gut takes Dean by surprise. Like being kicked in the stomach. It knocks the air out of him, makes him lose balance. Kirk sees this and pounces, knocking the gun out of Dean’s hand and pinning him against the nearest tree.

“It’s happening, can’t you feel it?” Kirk pants, forcefully pressing their bodies together. “You’re little lady parts are waking up and they’re _hungry_.”

Dean howls in fury. He should skin Kirk alive for even thinking, even _suggesting_ —but Dean can’t move. He’s in too much pain. Worse than being shot in the shoulder that one time in Boise: it feels like his insides are being carved out, an agonizing, gut-wrenching ache that turns his legs into jelly. He wouldn’t even be standing right now if it wasn’t for Kirk’s hand wrapped around his throat. 

“First heats are always the worst,” Kirk sneers. “But don’t worry, I know something that will make you feel better.” 

He grinds himself into Dean, knot rubbing against the younger hunter’s inner thigh. Kirk’s alpha scent is everywhere, painfully knocking against Dean’s skull. Then Kirk drops him. Dean falls to his knees and that’s when he feels it, wetness trickling down the back of his thighs. He gasps: it could only mean one thing.

“Now be a good little bitch and let me at that pussy.”

“No!”

Dean tries to scramble away on his hands and knees but Kirk is already on top of him, pulling down his jeans while pushing Dean’s face into the forest floor. Dean knows he’s in danger, _real_ danger. He gropes blindly for his gun but Kirk already has his cock out and positioned against Dean’s sopping hole. Dean screams into a pile of pine needles for him to stop when suddenly, _crack!_

Everything goes still. Even the birds.

Suddenly the pressure of Kirk’s hand disappears as Kirk himself falls unconscious onto the forest floor. Dean sits up in relief to find he's surrounded by a dozen hunters, John in the center of with the butt of a rifle in his hand. 

“Get up,” John commands, bleak and chilly like the biting Wisconsin air.

Dean pulls at the waistband of his jeans. He struggles to stand but another debilitating wave of pain cripples him. He falls back down to knees, biting his tongue so he doesn't cry out in front of his father.

“The hunt's over,” John declares to a sea of murmurs. “We retreat to camp for the night and try again in the morning. Bill, Ed, you’re on night watch. Axel, hold this.”

John hands the rifle to the hunter at his side. Then he kneels and picks up his son. Dean is mortified but he doesn't fight it, can't. He hides his face from the other hunters as they pass but there’s no hiding the truth. Now everyone knows. Everyone can _smell_ it. John’s oldest son isn't an alpha.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


At the edge of the woods there’s a circle of RVs. John unlocks the silver and black popup he’s rented for the weekend and carries Dean into the back bedroom: a single mattress behind a sliding door. There, he unceremoniously dumps his son onto the bed. Dean curls into the center of the mess of sheets and refuses to look at his father. There’s no need, Dean can feel the displeasure radiating from him.

“So, it’s finally happened,” John says. “You’ve presented as an omega.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Dean protests.

“Sir,” he corrects, an honorific John enforces even in private. Military deference over familial intimacy.

“Ten generations and you’re the first omega male. Even your _mother_ was a beta,” John sighs. “I would be disappointed but the truth is: I'm not all that surprised.” 

It’s an icy slap to the face, enough to knock Dean out of his heat, just for a second.

“I know your mother's death changed a lot of things for us.” John continues. “You were forced to grow up too fast, and I depended on you to take care of your brother. But what some call obedience, others would call...subservience, submission: omega traits. I had my worries. So I was hard on you, more than your brother. I can see now that I was right to be concerned, but I still couldn’t stop you from turning, in the end.”

Dean’s mouth hangs open.

None of that is fair! John himself had drilled it into Dean: defiance equals a brutal death. And now he’s being accused of subservience? Dean feels gutted. A complete and utter failure as a son.

“What...what do I do now?” Dean asks. Lost, freefalling.

John shakes his head. “Can’t have you go on hunts anymore,” he concludes. “An unmated omega’s scent is too potent. It would distract my men. Maybe it’s best if you return to a research position, with Sam.”

“What!” It’s a demotion of the worst kind. Dean has trained so hard to be worthy of hunting alongside his father and now because of some physiological _error_ it’s being stripped away. 

“In fact I think you two should switch places,” John continues, adding insult to injury. “It’s about time he got into the family trade.”

“But Sam hates hunting!” Dean reminds, incredulous, stung.

“Headstrong, proud,” John says with a smile he’s never granted Dean. “He’ll make a good alpha, one day.”

And just like that Dean’s whole world crumbles. Everything he’s sought after. Everything he’s done to mold himself into the shape of his father. To be acknowledged, and loved. All of it, in vain. Dean can feel his body throbbing, desperate to be mated with; a biological imperative Dean can only resist for so long. Eventually, he’ll succumb, and his father will look away in shame. 

Despair poisons him. Dean wishes he could curl into a ball and disappear.

“There is _one_ other option,” John says, dangling hope in front of his eldest. “One where things can continue as they are." He sits on the edge of the bed and pats the space next to him. When Dean joins him, John puts a gentle hand on the back of his son’s neck. 

“You understand pair-bonding, don’t you?” he asks. “I know with this job of mine it doesn’t always leave time for explaining the basics, like what happens between an alpha and an omega when they—”

“I know,” Dean interrupts. He doesn't need a birds-and-the-bees talk with John. Especially now. Everyone knows when an alpha mates with an omega in heat, and bites into the neck during copulation, he shares his scent with the omega and the two become pair bonded. 

“Then you’ll know it hides the omega’s scent, and regulates their heats,” John explains. “And if you chose to do it, you wouldn’t distract my men. You could hunt between these...urges. I could train you.”

Dean turns red. He’d thought of himself as an alpha so long it’s an uncomfortable, unnatural, shift to imagine himself in the reverse. Now his father is asking him to pair bond with another alpha. But which one? Dean remembers Kirk’s hands on him and shudders. “Dad,” he pleads. Corrects himself, “Sir.”

“You already wear my scent,” John continues. “No one would be the wiser—Bobby, Sam. Not for a few years, at least. In the meantime, nothing would have to change. You can remain by my side, as my son, and not some other alpha's play thing.”

John’s hand is warm on his neck. Dean hates how the active womb inside of him suddenly blossoms at the attention. He tries to control himself—his father for chrissakes! But that’s when John’s scent hits him like a wall. Alpha: pure and unadulterated. And unlike Kirk, Dean knows his father’s scent, has coveted it. Suddenly Dean is shaking, wet and hard. He tries to pull away from his father, but John’s hand on the back of his neck becomes a vice, holding him in place.

Suddenly there’s a struggle between father and son that ends with Dean bent over the bed, John behind him, pressing his engorged alpha cock into the crook of Dean’s ass. All at once he understands: his _father_ wants to breed him. That was John's solution all along, to pair-bond with his own son. 

_Fuck!_

Dean buries his face into the mattress as John grinds into him. He’s humiliated. Ashamed. But not of his father’s sexual attention. No, Dean is ashamed at how much he craves it. John’s kept him at arm's-length his whole life. Never good enough, never fast enough, or strong enough. Only moments before John had unloaded his freshman son onto another hunter. Had threatened to exile Dean to a life of dusty books and replace him with his younger brother. But now? Now Dean has something his father wants. Something the animal in him can hardly resist.

Tilting his hips up, Dean grinds against his father’s engorged cock. Subtle, wordless consent. Yes. Please. _Do it._ And that’s all it takes. With a growl John pulls down his son’s pants, undoes his own. Desperate to be wanted, Dean waits, holding his breath. With a simple thrust, John enters into the gaping, welcoming womb of his omega son.

Suddenly, Dean is filled with cock. His body rewards him with an orgasm so satisfying, so intense, that Dean throws his head back and practically howls like a wolf, collapsing onto the bed, shuddering and shivering with the aftermath of pleasure.

And all that just from having a cock put in.

“You can feel it now, can’t you?” John pants above him. “The pleasure of being an omega. Even now, your body is drawing me in, desperate for my knot.”

John is buried deep inside but he hasn’t knotted his son, not yet. He presses the bulge of it against Dean’s wet-slick hole like a threat, or maybe a promise.

Dean hangs his head, moaning pathetically. Everything inside of him is so sensitive. He can feel every twitch, every throb of his father’s cock and even the tiniest movement sends thrills of pleasure along his spine. He hates this, as much as his body craves it. He's trained to be a soldier, to be strong, silent, confident, proud—but being fucked makes everything unravel. All it takes is one, two, three more thrusts from his father, and Dean is coming again.

“Oh... _god_!” he gasps. “Fuck!” 

Dean is helpless to resist the pleasure. Above him, John has complete control, continuing to thrust inside at a steady, insistent rhythm. Already, Dean can feel another orgasm building. He eyes it in the distance like a castaway to an oncoming storm: terrified of drowning.

“When I knot you your body will draw me into the deepest part of you, where I’ll release,” John explains. “We’ll be locked together as your womb fills. And that’s when I’ll mark you with my scent.”

Womb? _Filling?_ Despite the agony of pleasure, rebellion kicks in Dean’s mind. He'd tempted his father to enter him but he still balks at the preposterous notion that he, Dean Winchester, could get pregnant. 

“Wait," he says. “Maybe there's another way. Without...without..."

John slows, and then stills, his throbbing cock still embedded deep into Dean’s guts. 

“There is no other way,” John patronizes, as if Dean were five again and caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Your heats will only get longer the more you resist them.”

Another thrust sends a dizzying wave of pleasure up Dean’s spine.

“But I don’t want to be like this!” Dean cries, pathetic even to his own ears.

Suddenly, John pulls out. Dean groans miserably at the sudden emptiness, slick spilling from his gaping hole, body desperately clutching for a cock that’s no longer there. 

“Look at me,” John commands, biting back his own frustrated arousal.

Dean turns over on the bed. John stands in front of him, roughly stroking his alpha cock. Dean’s eyes go wide at the sight of it: a massive, bulging head with thick blue veins traveling down the length of it, disappearing at the base of John’s impressive knot. Dean looks down between his own slick-soaked legs for comparison, at the wizened baby-pink embarrassment of a cock that’s spread out on his belly. He'd convinced himself his knot was slow in coming, but now he can't deny the truth. Dean's meager little dick isn't meant to be used. His hole is.

“I taught you better than this,” John chastises, gruffily. “Better than to sit here and whine about how unfair you think life is. You're an omega, Dean, whether you like it or not. And you will mate with an alpha whether you like or not. So it can be here, right now, or it can be later. It can be with me, or it can be with someone who won’t hold back. Because even if you can control yourself, you can’t control every alpha that comes your way. There will always be men like Kirk, but without the scent of another alpha to deter them, they will try and take what they want.”

His father’s words sting, like a thousand tiny cuts. Dean tries to fight the threat of tears but loses, hot streaks of shame falling down his face. John is right. Was life fair to their mother? To John? To the dozen or so hunters they'd known and worked with that got cut down before their prime? No. But Dean had soldiered on anyways and accepted it without complaint. He did what he had to do. What was necessary. 

And that's what John wants him to do here, too.

Dean hangs his head. Understands. And finally, relents.

“Good boy."

To Dean’s surprise, John rewards him with a kiss on his forehead, gun-calloused hands lovingly stroking his eldest son’s tear-stained cheeks. “Very good.”

Dean swells at his father's praise, greedily accepting his attention. Together, they fall back onto the bed with Dean’s arms are wrapped around John’s neck, legs spread for his father’s girth. John positions himself against Dean’s hole again, but then pauses.

“I can’t stop again,” his father warns. “Once it starts, I have to finish.”

“Yes sir,” Dean answers.

“And to pair-bond, there can’t be any hesitation on your behalf. You have to want it, or it won’t take.”

Dean licks his lips. Nods. "Yes sir," he repeats.

Satisfied, John can no longer resist his instincts. He mounts his own son with a feral growl. His alpha cock slams into the very deepest parts of Dean, makes him feel complete. In his fifteen years of life Dean has never been this close to his father, though he’s craved it. Maybe never knew what he craved, dressing it up in hero worship and play-acting as an alpha. But all that admiration for his father, all that yearning to be like him, filling himself up with personality traits and discarded clothing: it was all the omega part of Dean, wanting to be filled with the most virulent alpha around.

Now Dean is stuffed so full of his father, he fears he might burst.

John’s pace quickly increases, giving in completely to his alpha rut. Dean has already been fucked into a series of small orgasms since being re-entered, but John doesn’t let him rest. John is focused on his own pleasure now, and it’s coming. Soon. Dean can feel his father’s cock getting even fatter, can feel his own muscles contracting in response just like John said they would: drawing his father’s cock up into his aching, virgin womb. 

Dean trembles beneath John. It’s coming. It’s coming and he’s ready for it!

“Knot me!” Dean gasps between the creaks and groans of the mattress beneath him. “Knot me daddy, please!”

John’s feral growl fills the room. He slams the rest of his cock into Dean just as he comes. John’s knot locks Dean’s asshole up tight, like a heavy rock sitting at the bottom of his gut as the tip of John’s cock gushes into his womb. Dean gasps as he’s filled come, his body shaking with an orgasm that is so deep, so powerful, that he cries wordlessly, clinging to the skin of his father like he might slip off the face of the earth. 

John himself is shaking from the intensity of the release. When he's done they lie there locked together, wrapped around each other, the outside world—monsters, and blood, and hunting, and duty—briefly forgotten until John’s heavy, rusting voice cuts through Dean’s reverie.

“I could smell you through the woods, when your heat hit,” John says, panting. “Three miles away and the scent of your cunt was calling out to me, telling me to claim it.”

His father’s beard scrapes against Dean’s tear-stained cheeks. His lips brush against the pale exposed tendons of Dean’s neck.

“I knew my men could smell it too. But I would have fucking cut their throats out if they’d touched you.”

Dean cranes his neck at his father's kisses, exposing himself further.

“Do it,” Dean urges, fingers like claws digging into his father’s back. Out of all the alpha’s on their hunt today, out of all the alphas in the world, it would only ever be John that Dean would submit to. _“Do it_.”

So John sinks his teeth into Dean’s neck.

Dean shudders, bites his tongue at the pain. He can smell blood, but more than that, he can smell his father, stronger then ever before: whiskey, iron, and the woods just before dawn. 

The act of marking is aggressive. John’s adrenaline spikes and he suddenly scoops up his son with both arms, stands, and slams Dean’s back into the bedroom wall. Dean shouts in surprise. Connected at two points: his neck and his hole, Dean knows he’s going to remember this feeling long after it’s over: what is to be owned. No longer son and omega separate, but both. Heart and holes the sole property of John Winchester

“I’m yours,” Dean confirms, when John finally releases. “ _Yours_.”

John seals the pact with a kiss. Dean opens his mouth and savors the taste of his own blood on his father's lips.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


The next morning Dean is surrounded by John's men, all sniffing curiously in his direction.

They can smell it. John’s scent is plastered all over him. Stronger than before, when Dean just wore his father's jacket. They back off, one-by-one shooting confused glances between themselves and then finally at John. They know John’s son is an omega. They know he had his first heat. They also know there’s only one way to remove an omega’s scent.

But John wouldn’t...would he?

“We’ll split up,” John declares, just as he did before. “Groups of two starting with Bill and Ed. Axel and Ace. Kirk…”

John pauses. Kirk looks warily at Dean and Dean narrows his eyes back at him. 

“Kirk is with Bruno. Which leaves my son, Dean, who will be going with me.”

John wraps his arm around Dean’s shoulder in the sight of his men and Dean swells with pride. He'd thought presenting as an alpha would earn him his father's love. But after last night, Dean is happy that he ended up as an omega after all.


End file.
